


Unconditional

by Yùu (Yuutfa)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-25
Updated: 2012-03-25
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuutfa/pseuds/Y%C3%B9u
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I cannot tell you how I feel through words, I can’t see what you see and I doubt you’d ever realise, but Sherlock? I promise you, with all my heart, I love you.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the warning, this whole story is mainly fluff, pretty tame stuff. Ambiguously written for a reason that gets revealed in the end.

It was raining when I first met him.

I remember it clearly, it was windy, sodden and my hair was completely soaked. I was shivering in an ill attempt to stay warm and I was alone. The tin roof rattled above me, the pitter-patter of the raindrops made my ears ache but I was too weak to move. Not surprising, considering that I hadn’t eaten in five days. Seeing straight was a chore and waking up was becoming more and more difficult. 

I had curled up, doing my best to retain warmth when he approached me. I lifted my head, eyed him warily but made no effort to move. Probably just another person that had stopped to stare, at least five people did every day, he was no different. I just hoped he didn’t stop to kick me, those were the worst, they knew I was unable to retaliate. Too tired and too weak to cry out in pain, too helpless to attack back; I was the perfect victim, it seemed.

He was tall, even by conventional standards. Smartly dressed with a grand woollen coat and a short scarf but despite his clean clothes, he didn’t carry an umbrella. Odd, why was such a finely dressed man allowing himself to get soaked like this? His clothes looked really nice, it seemed a shame that he wasn’t giving a toss.

Oh well, it didn’t matter to me, my main concern was that he left quickly. Being stared at was always an uncomfortable experience. Pitiful looks were something I could live without, thanks. No longer giving a damn, I rested my head back onto the ground and closed my eyes. Sleeping was all I could really do and a part of me desperately hoped that one day, I wouldn’t wake up. 

The man murmured something above me in a rich low voice. It was soothing and for a moment, I wished that I had paid more attention to what he had said. It didn’t matter what happened next, I was out like a light. 

~*~

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that I was no longer outside. The second thing was the plate of food in front of me. The third—

“Oh, you’re awake, about time.”

My body was sluggish and responded slowly to the words. Where was I...? The room was warm and there was a fire behind me, the whole area reeked of something I hadn’t smelt before; artificial, not like the rain or the grass, not even like the exhaust fumes of the cars outside. Clinical? Yes... I remembered smelling something like this once, long ago, in a building that was very pale and hurt my eyes. A building I ran away from. 

A few minutes passed as realisation dawned on me; this man had taken me home with him.

I bolted upright but soon fell back down. Stupid! What was I thinking? I was in no state to stand, let alone run! 

The man, who had been sitting in the armchair, rolled his eyes and pointed to the plate of food. “Stop pushing yourself and eat. Sleep when you’re full, I’ll decide what to do with you later.” 

Again, it took me a little while to understand. He spoke a little too quickly and his voice slipped into mumbling far too much for my liking. However, there was food beside me and I couldn’t afford to doubt his kindness. So putting aside the fact that it might be poisoned, I greedily tucked in and hell, if I died, it wasn’t as if the world was going to miss me.

There was a low chuckle from him, I ignored it and continued eating. Several times, I almost choked and had to slow down but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he watched me intently, his fingertips touching one another while he rested his elbows on his knees. 

My stomach lurched, unused to the sudden intake of food but I really didn’t care. I was full for the first time in days and if I was going to get tummy cramps, then I regretted nothing. I flopped down onto my side, completely sated and warmed my back by the glowing fire. 

The man pointed to the long, expansive sofa that seemed to stretch out for miles. “You can sleep there if you want,” he said before rising up and moving to pick up the plate. 

This caught my attention and I sat up, careful not to jostle my overly full stomach when I did. Sitting up straight, I gave him a curious stare; why was he being so kind? What possible gain could he have from all of this? I didn’t understand. I was by no means, ungrateful, far from it, but I hated the idea of getting emotionally invested when I would just be abandoned.

Again.

I did the well to hide my flinch and if he saw it, he didn’t react. I was immensely grateful for that. 

The seconds ticked by, then minutes and the whole room was silent except for the occasional crack of the embers to my right. When I was steady and felt up for it, I rose to my feet and padded to the sofa, collapsing into it without so much as a second thought. Oh, this was so much better than a floor! How long had it been since I had slept on something other than the pavement? Too long, far too long!

I resisted the urge to roll around when I realised something. I hadn’t washed since God knew when, I was probably spreading all sorts of filth onto the lovely leather sofa. I paused and felt a little guilty when I saw a patch of dirt that had been rubbed on from my bare feet. I warily poked at it and looked back at him, as if to apologise. 

To my surprise, he simply lifted his hand and waved it. “It can be cleaned. Stop looking so pitiful and sleep already,” he said firmly accenting it with a shake of the head.

If I could, I would have laughed in happiness and though I was unable to, it didn’t stop the burst of warmth from filling me inside out. It wasn’t the food and it wasn’t the fireplace but it was something else. For the first time in what seemed like years, I was happy. I was truly content and happy. I stilled and settled down into the sofa and while I did my best to push down the hope that was welling up, I couldn’t help but wish that I could stay here, just a little longer. My dreams were peaceful when I drifted.

When I woke up, I found a blanket draped over my body. I inhaled deeply, it smelt of him.

~*~

I wasn’t sure how it happened, but I somehow ended up living with him. Sherlock Holmes, that was his name. Sherlock Holmes the Consulting Detective, whatever the hell that meant. I didn’t care, why would I? It wasn’t as if I was his client (the thought of this made me internally chuckle) and there was no room for me in those harebrained deductions of his. What he did as his occupation had nothing to do with me. As long as I had a roof over my head and food, that was all that mattered. 

To me, Sherlock Holmes was a genius, a crazy genius that talked for hours on end to himself, that desecrated his violin at ungodly hours, that sometimes refused to eat unless I nudged him towards the fridge or handed him takeout menus. (Even then, he ignored me.)

To me, Sherlock Holmes was my best friend. My only friend.

He gave me meaning in life, saved me when I was dying and for that, I was grateful. His attitude may have been callous and most of his words and theories flew over my head, but never in my life had I adored a man more. Of course, he’d never know any of this and I was perfectly fine with it, I was content with just being with him. Simply being in the same room as Sherlock filled my heart with joy.

This wasn’t to say that the man was perfect, far from it. Sometimes, he drove me absolutely insane. There were many times where I woke up to the smell of burning and had to be ushered out of the house because of small localised explosions, but this was something I would never trade away.

“John.”

My head lifted and I stared at him.

“Get my phone,” he commanded, holding out his hand.

I obeyed without question because Lord only knew that this man was too lazy to get it himself.

~*~

The first time he took me to a crime scene, I was assaulted by the smell of blood and immediately, I felt sick. I made a noise of protest but I stayed close to him, I shuddered at the idea of losing him in a place like this. The idea of losing Sherlock at all made me feel a sense of dread that I never wanted to experience again. To lose Sherlock would be to go to the life I had before him and I never wanted to feel that sensation of helplessness again. The days of waiting for death were over.

I looked up at him and stood firm. I had a reason to live now.

An older man approached us. Among all the sights and smells, I had hardly noticed him but he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He wasn’t like the other people that were running around senselessly, it was as if they didn’t know what to do with the dead body that sat in the middle of the dusty warehouse. He barked orders at the senseless mass and moved towards us in wide efficient strides. His steps steady but weighted, he was stressed. Not surprising, there was a corpse just twenty feet away.

“Sherlock, what the hell are you thinking? Why are you bringing—”

“He’s my assistant, Lestrade,” Sherlock snapped.

The man faltered. “You’re aware that there are trained—”

“Yes, yes, but they’re all useless,” Sherlock viciously cut once more. 

Poor Lestrade, he wasn’t able to get a word in edgewise... He huffed loudly but relented to Sherlock’s demands. It seemed like a regular occurrence. The thought made me smile, it was just like Sherlock to come into a room and expect everything to be catered to his whims. He did have that air about him, didn’t he?

He placed his hand on my shoulder and snapped me out of my daze. “John, go see if you can find anything of interest,” Sherlock said, sweeping his arm over the wide area. 

‘Anything of interest’? That was hardly specific. I scanned the area nervously, memorising as much as I could before nodding, ever so slightly. Sherlock brought me here for a reason and I hated the idea of letting him down. I knew that if I let him down this time, he’d leave me alone in the house the next time he had a case and while I adored Mrs Hudson to bits, there was only so much _Coronation_ _Street_ I could handle before I wanted to run out into the streets of London and potentially get hit by a car. 

I swiftly ran around the crime scene, searching for potential leads and clues. A few minutes passed before I found something that seemed remotely helpful; a trainer buried under a pile of rubble and shrapnel.

With this discovery, the case was solved in less than ten minutes.

And after that, Sherlock took me along to every single crime scene.

~*~

Five years later, I found myself lying across Sherlock’s lap. We sat in companionable silence, with only the crackle of embers to break it, mirroring the first night we spent together. His thin fingers carded through my hair and I leaned into the touch. Five years since I had met this mad, wonderful man and every day, I grew to love him more and more. It was an unconditional love, I never expected anything in return but every now and then, he would grace me with a smile that was exclusive to only me. He would laugh in a voice that rang out clearer than any bell, in a voice that no one else had heard and whenever he did that, my adoration grew.

But five years was a long time. I wasn’t as young as I used to be. My vision was poorer now, blurring at the edges and my joints were stiff, I had trouble keeping up with Sherlock. He knew this of course, Sherlock knew everything. When I failed to match his pace during a chase, he had taken the habit of leaving me with Lestrade whenever he felt the need to rush off. Not surprisingly, it hurt, but I understood. My breathing had become strained lately and I knew that my days with Sherlock were drawing to an end.

Sherlock knew this as well, he had been handling me with care and many days, he would just pet me for hours on end. He held me close when we slept together, he knew this wasn’t going to last but he never addressed it. Sherlock was sparing my feelings and perhaps, just perhaps, admitting it was just too painful? If he were to say it out loud, it would just become all the more real and that was something neither of us wanted. Sometimes, he would gaze at me with hurt in his clear eyes but he would swiftly turn his head when he felt my stare.

I had accepted long ago that I would die before he did. At first, I was bitter, why hadn’t I met him sooner? Why couldn’t we have met under different circumstances? But I soon realised that resentment did nothing but waste more of our precious time together. Meeting Sherlock Holmes had been the greatest joy in my life and never for a moment, had I regretted it.

When my breathing becomes shallow, his hand stills and his eyes are drawn to me in seconds. Ah, there was that flash of pain again. “John,” he murmurs, his hand still in mid-air halfway to my head. 

It was a far bigger struggle than I had anticipated, but with great effort, I lift my head and lick at his hand. I try to reassure him as the following thoughts flew through my mind: _I cannot tell you how I feel through words, I can’t see what you see and I doubt you’d ever realise, but Sherlock? I promise you, with all my heart, I love you._

I could only hope that my simple actions could even convey a tenth of those feelings.

His arms gather around my neck in a loose embrace and the sound of my metal echoed across the room. My collar was jingling again, this was my funeral knell. I closed my eyes. This was it. With this, I was able to move on in peace.

“Goodbye John.”


End file.
